A Vicious Cycle of Sorts
by JennaBennett
Summary: Just a little glimpse into Caskett post Always. My contribution to tiff098765's 'How to Say the Words' multi-author fic. One shot.


**AN: So, I'm writing when I'm supposed to be sleeping – again. As mentioned in the summary, this is my contribution to ****tiff098765****'s **_**How to Say the Words**_** multi-author fic. If you haven't read it yet, you should. As always, let me know what you think! **

_A Vicious Cycle of Sorts_

_(How to Say the Words)_

Being together in all senses of the word hasn't changed who they are, _how_ they are. Their dynamic, their foundation – it's still fundamentally the same. They bicker, they argue, they tease and at times it spirals into full fledged fights. Fights that hurt, words that cut, slammed doors, dramatic sighs.

This fight is the worst one yet, it has Beckett gnawing a hole into her bottom lip, a permanent furrow etching itself into her brow. She finds herself alone in the break room, furious and on the cusp of exhaustion. She sees him stride across the bullpen after her, pausing at the break room door, he knocks – which is fair enough after the manner in which she ungraciously slammed it mere minutes ago. She moves to the door, rolls her eyes in expectation of the argument to come, answers it with dramatic flourish (maybe Castle is rubbing off on her more than she consciously realises? The subtle intricacies of intimacy). There's a glower fixed on his face and he levels his gaze at her as she hisses a –

"What the hell, Castle." He slides past her and into the break room, ignoring her sharp tone and standoffish stance. She raises a hand in mock indignation, "oh, do come in," her tone is level, lethal, injected with steel. It sends a clear message, she is not in the mood to be messed with. The combination of her tone and Castle's steady glare indicates that the fight is in the same place it was out in the bullpen. A definite stalemate. No room for compromise.

Someone is going to have to fold and it most certainly is not going to be her. He's the one acting like an idiot. He has no right, no right at all. Just because she's given herself over to him completely doesn't mean he gets to walk all over her life without her permission. This is her – well, _their_ – job on the line. She's only tentatively back in the precinct and she doesn't want to mess it up. A fierce fight with her partner in the bullpen is probably not making the best statement. Mulling it over, she knows the whole argument is completely pointless, but she's in too deep, she staked her claim of righteous anger and she will not be backing down anytime soon. Kate Beckett is not a quitter. The years of obsessing over her mother's case despite insurmountable odds have well and truly proven that.

"You can't stop me, Beckett," his words cut into her thoughts, his voice gruff, the emotions beneath them swelling just below the surface.

"Like hell I can't," her hand finds her hip, indignation clouding her countenance. "You are not going undercover – alone. I don't care if Gates thinks it's a brilliant plan. She isn't the one who'll have to call Alexis and tell her that you're in hospital."

"Beckett," he whines, softening a little. "I'll be safe, it'll be great fun. You let me do it before, that poker game with the Russians in Chinatown. It worked out, right? We got the guy."

"Castle, I had to save your arse completely on that case. You were almost shot," she's clearly not amused, her tone seething.

"Oh, right, maybe not the best example… But really, it'll be fun and I'll be fine," he tries to smile convincingly, it doesn't quite reach his eyes. They both know he doesn't want to do it for the "fun", this case has hit him personally. The man is a monster and he wants to stop him. Anything to do with kids and Castle's need for justice increases exponentially. He has to do this. Gates is giving him a chance. Sure, Beckett's angry now, but it'll work out just fine.

"Go home, Castle," she hedges, her tone softer now.

"No," it's fierce and assured, he's not backing down, not on this.

"God help me, loving you doesn't change anything, you're still as insufferable as ever…" it's the beginnings of a rant, she's furious and the words are spilling from her. She wants to tell him that he never listens to what she says, that he never stays in the car when she specifically orders him to – for his own damn safety. But she's cut off by the frenzied push of his lips on hers. She kisses him back for a moment – she's only human after all – before pushing him away to meet his eyes, a puzzled expression on her face. "Huh?" is all she can manage before he's kissing her again, lips moving hungrily, reverently against hers. He pulls away for a moment, forehead resting on hers, eyes gleaming.

"You love me?" he chokes out, part question, part statement.

"Duh. Why else do you think I put up with your nonsense?" she smirks, kissing him gently removing the sting from her words and offering him a reassurance of sorts.

"Say it again, then take me home. I think I can sit this one out," he beams at her. Sure, the case is important, but Ryan can do it. He has other plans, plans that involve the woman he loves – the woman who _loves him_. She quirks an eyebrow but acquiesces –

"I love you, Castle," her tone has taken on that deep, sultry teasing quality that he loves so very much. She's dazzling, he's finding it increasingly difficult to remember how to breathe. Apparently this is what it feels like when one's wildest dreams come true. She rolls her eyes, tugs on his hand, throws a, "Ryan, you're on point, I'm taking a personal day," over her shoulder as she leads him from the precinct. They make it to the sidewalk before he regains himself, chuckles, glancing at their intertwined hands.

"You know it's fitting really," he begins casually, she shifts her gaze to him, clearly curious. "I told you I loved you whilst we were arguing and now you've done the same. I should've expected it… Oh, I bet the next time we have a massive fight I'll convince you to move in, or even better, you'll tell me you're pregnant! We really should fight more often," he grins, enthusiasm colouring his tone.

"Castle," she warns. "Don't start picking fights with me on purpose. I can assure you, it won't bode well for you…" she trails off – point made. He shakes his head firmly.

"Oh, to the contrary my dear Detective, our history is in my favour, fighting is definitely the way to go," he teases, squeezing her hand lightly in an attempt to add some levity to his words.

"Seriously Castle, I'm not going to argue with you about arguing," she sighs, running the fingers of her free hand through her hair.

"But you already are," he retorts gleefully, his grin widening. "This is great. Let's get back to loft already so we can have hot make-up sex," he adds with a leer. She giggles, hand over her mouth a second too late to stifle it. Hot make-up sex, hey? You know, maybe the man had a point…

"You know what, Castle? If you'd just load the dishwasher logically then I wouldn't have to argue with you about it time and time again." The sound of his jaw dropping open was enough to assure her that he had clearly gotten the intention of her words. They hastened for home, matching grins and clever comebacks carrying them there.


End file.
